Knife Party
by Rot-Chan
Summary: For Sakura it was the Rx calling her name. For Naruto it was his needle, cool and chrome. NaruSaku drug!fic. "I ended up crying over Romeo & Juliet. I ended up taking a few more pills, forgetting the exam, and my friends. I ended up in this rehab place."
1. Speak

**Knife Party**

a NaruSaku fic. by Rot-chan

---

_"I'm going to be the Cinderella at Walt Disney's new theme park, Susanna's gonna be Snow White. _

_You can come if you want. You can be the Cocker Spaniel that eats spaghetti."_

_-Lisa, in "Girl, Interrupted"_

_

* * *

  
_

We all sit in a circle. We all hate each other. In a way, we're all the same. There's a guy with a semi-bleach job and tattoos on his face and arms. A girl with a Barbie-blonde pony tail, filing her nails and snapping gum. People with circles under their eyes and nervous fingers tapping against their knees.

But my eyes find their way back to the boy with the unnaturally blonde hair. I need a distraction. He is perching on the tacky blue chairs instead of sitting on it like all the others, frowning defiantly and staring across the circle at our 'leader'. (His name is Kakashi. No one asked.)

I trace the tattoos with my eyes, remember the color patterns, pick out the shapes. Star, dragon, tiger eyes . . . .

At Konoha Rehab Center, we're the sick minds, the druggies. The Substance Abusers, like the doctors tell us. And I guess that really is a problem.

Kakashi speaks.

"So. I'm going to cut to the chase here, save us a half hour or so. Why did you come to rehab? What do you want to change?"

Why I'm here? I don't want to think about it.

But seriously - why _am_ I here? Why am I even in this place?

Yeah . . . this sucks. I'm always getting myself into bad dreams.

* * *

**_KNIFE PARTY_**

* * *

I was running across the track. It was drizzling, and my bangs were stuck to my skin. The air was warm, and sticky. My throat felt thick.

A message was on the stadium board - LET'S GO PANTHERS! BEAT THE PHANTOMS. I can never get this image out of my brain; white letters stark against the black board. It was as if maybe, I _was_ one of the people who were going to play in that game, or sit in the bleachers, or like, cheer. But I wasn't.

Five people, then ten, all passed by me, heavy footsteps thudding against the rough ground. A whistle sounded off somewhere in the distance, but all I could think of is white letter behind my closed eyes. "Come on, kids! Move it! It's gonna start pouring!"

Later I drove home. I noticed my windshield wiper was broken again.

I walked inside, and found a post-it on the mirror. Another note of instructions - make a TV dinner, order a pizza, I'll be home by 10 (Dad). I scowled; surely having another take-out meal would make me want to puke.

There was a mess on the kitchen table, and broken glass on the counter. Clothes littered in a pile near the laundry room. An abandoned Diet Coke with a green straw on the coffee table.

In the medicine cabinet on the second floor bathroom, it was calling my name - a pleasant orange bottle with a bold Rx, a fond good-bye to the real world, the nights of homework, the empty house, the unfixable wiper.

It was like swallowing candy, sliding down my throat. One, two, three, all crushed up and powdery, sticking to my tongue. I felt like gagging. Soon I would need a refill, would need some more.

And everything was all right, just like that. Just for a little while. I slept until dinner time. I ended up ordering the pizza.

I ended up crying over _Rome + Juliet_. Ended up downing bitter liquid and taking a few more pills when I thought about forgetting the chemistry exam and my former friends at school. I ended up here.

* * *

**_KNIFE PARTY_**

_

* * *

_

10:15. I'm the last one to tell.

Kakashi looks at a chart, and then at me. "Haruno . . . Sakura. Any nicknames?"

I am uncomfortable. I pull at the hem of my shirt. "No . . . just Sakura." Why does my name sound so wrong, so stupid when I say it out loud? He nods, and a few people murmur half-hearted greetings. I can't bring myself to reply.

"Hey, hey, Kakashi, I have a question! Hey Sakura - what about the hair?" The blonde woman asks. She is the one with the pony tail with fried ends. When Kakashi asked her about her dreams, she replied, "I want to be an actress, in like, one of those 'Christiane F.' kind of roles. Because I like, did heroin."

A cool sweat hits me, and I can barely breathe. "I . . . I dyed it in ninth grade." I clear my throat, and dig my nails into my palm, cough nervously once, twice.

Kakashi sighs. "And what brings you to The Circle?" It is a too-cute name for our 'substance addiction support group', where we discuss our problems at Konoha Rehab Center.

I want to say, 'it's an _oval_, not a circle'; instead, I reply, "I . . . I don't really know why I'm here." It's a lie.

The truth: I feel like the walls are slowly closing in on me, like Ino's gaze is burning into the side of my skull as she's mesmerized by my hair. I want to pound on the windows of my room, room #237, and scream to be let out until I don't have a voice. I know why I am here.

"Really. Well, I guess that's something that you want to change, then. Knowing why you're here?" Kakashi says thoughtfully. He doesn't write anything down on his clipboard about me like in the movies.

I make the mistake of looking anywhere else but the therapist's eyes, and find semi-bleach staring at me intensely across the Circle, his blue eyes fixed on hopefully not my hair. My heart suddenly pounds, and my hands shake violently at my side. I grip the edges of the chair, because I already know I will not be able to stop.

"Haruno." But I can't hear anything - I can barely hear any sound, can only picture myself taking the liquor bottle, pouring it into a chipped blue mug, swallowing the pills, watching the floor blur -

- "I-I need - I need to leave the room. P-please? Please."

Kakashi waves his hand in the direction of the door. "Go ahead. Take as much time -" I jump up at once, stagger, almost fall, hear someone say,_ 'woah, is she like, ok?'_

"Y-yeah, I know, um, thank you, I'll be back in . . . soon . . . ." I cover my eyes. The lights on the ceiling are too-too bright, like staring into the sun.

Mechanically I open and shut the door with unsteady hands. I lean against the wall. Time passes, but I never know how long. When I remember I wasn't allowed to bring my favorite Mickey Mouse clock with me to the Center, a heat explodes behind my eyes, and dull wetness builds near my lashes.

I hear the door open and shut. I half-hope it's semi-bleach, because I like his weird tattoos. Tears slide down my cheeks and my hand, jumping against my skin, wipes them away. The salt tastes good on my lips.

It's Kakashi. "Are you all right?" I'm silent.

"I know, I know . . . what can a 25 year old man _possibly_ know about a seventeen year old girl. Well, you would be a bit surprised. Maybe I know about these kind of . . . things." These things. The wanting, the sadness, the need. 'The d-word', as one of the therapists said. No saying anything but 'd-word'!

His hand on my back makes me cry. It's because it reminds me of my mom. It makes me want to tell him about everything - finding the Valium, crying as I took the first pill - but I don't. I just can't. I can't speak.

My head pounds. I hear Kakashi talking. A nurse takes me to my room as I cry, softly, trembling. Then the doctor comes in. She makes me take another pill, but it's cold and sits in my mouth under my tongue, until I have to get rid of it in front of her eyes.

Now I can't sleep. I want to tell Kakashi I am sorry I never went back, to room 107. I beg to go, but they tell me 'no' again.

I'll just write him a note instead. I like to write.

* * *

**_KNIFE PARTY_**


	2. Circle

**Knife Party**

---

A NaruSaku fanfiction by Rot-chan

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_I have played with fire and the matches they are burning still in my hand_

_They can try and shut me up they never can_

_They never will again_

- Courtney Love, "All The Drugs"

* * *

By the fifth day, I am known as Blue Cup Girl.

I can't stop drinking. My mouth waters when I see the lemonade in the cafeteria. I yearn for Diet Coke.

For the most part, I'm complaint. Take the pill, drink, swallow. Rinse and repeat. So the nurses let me have a blue cup – a plastic cup almost the same color of the chairs in room 107, where the oval meets twice a week – but it's see-through, and holds nothing but water.

Maybe they trust me here. Maybe the therapists are tired of me asking to go to the water fountain every session.

Every day I write a new note, for a new someone. After I left The Circle on Tuesday, I wrote for Kakashi, told him I was sorry I had to leave (and doodled shapes in the margins, because I couldn't resist). Wednesday was semi-bleach, explaining that I liked his painful tattoos and strange blue eyes. Thursday, for Ino, how I never wanted to have pink hair.

Eventually it's Friday. Time for the oval and ugly blue chairs, time to fill up my cup again. I jump when the nurse knocks on my door.

When I go downstairs, pass by the yoga rooms and the art rooms, the vending machines and the water fountains, I take my time but won't be late; I want to prepare myself, and think I'm OK.

But when I enter the room, the door heavy under my hand, I can't look at him. My mind also drifts off to semi-bleach. I notice he is already sitting down, and waves at me in greeting, once again sitting on the chair all wrong, with his legs tucked under instead of on the floor.

Hesitantly I wave back, because I know nothing about communicating with people who have half-sleeves of ink on their arm. Wednesday's note is crumpled in my pocket; later I will tear it to pieces later.

Ino is wearing a weird outfit this time – the clothes she brought with her are something to stare at – a tube top with daisy duck print, and a miniskirt short enough to be a loincloth. This time she is actually _painting_ her nails, and curses quietly when a bit of black polish runs onto her cuticle.

A few other kids I recognize from last time all filter in slowly; some look displeased that they have to be in the room that smells like whiteboard cleaner with a flickering flourescent light again.

Kakashi takes out the wooden clipboard again. He checks off names with a pencil. There aren't many checks.

"Well, I guess I was stood up today," Kakashi muses as he takes in six filled chairs and four empty ones.

Semi-bleach shrugs and says, "Are you that surprised?"

The Oval Leader stares at the rebel. "And what do you mean by that-" Kakashi glances down quickly, and finds his name on the chart. ". . . Naruto?"

I remember that name know. Before it was too bright. It made me forget. His name is Naruto. He has a name. I wonder, quietly, what his parents were thinking of when they named him, if they were happy when he was born. If they could have seen this happening when semi - _Naruto_ was first alive.

Naruto says, narrowing his eyes, "Because no one feels like sitting here. With _you_."

Kakashi isn't offended, but he seems amused; this surprises me. "I always thought of myself as good company, actually. I'm rather hurt."

Ino laughs and snaps her gum. (I notice that she is always, always chewing.)

"Yeah, you're pretty good company, 'n not bad looking too." She giggles with the girl beside her, who has about a dozen ear piercings and hair in a million clips.

Instantly I turn away from them. They remind me of the kids back at school. I never want to see any of them again, pulling at their hair in the bathroom and talking about hating school and going on dates. I'll never know people like them can tell people like me – like Kakashi - exactly how they're feeling.

The Leader does not respond. Instead, he begins. I am not sure how far his patience will go.

"Since Naruto certainly had a lot to say this morning, why don't we start off with him today," Kakashi says calmly as someone sitting in one of the blue chairs starts to fall asleep. The girl with the clips throws a pencil at the boy, and he stirs, looking oblivious. More laughter.

"I thought you were all young adults. I had no idea I would be a baby-sitter here," Kakashi speaks loudly, and the humor ceases. Ino stares at him, fixing her Pretty Woman thigh-high boots and holding her chin up high while Clips fiddles with her hair, obviously crushed.

With everyone silent (for the most part) and all of us awake (sort of), Kakashi continues, "Naruto . . . all right. Describe how you feel today in one word."

When Naruto flexes his arms out in front of him, I watch his bicep move slightly and the dragon curl with sinewy muscle.

"Hmm . . . _Vile_," Naruto says lightly, his voice almost whimsically sarcastic, and Ino snorts behind her palm.

"And why did you choose 'vile'?" Kakashi inquires.

"Because I want some smack, and I hate that. Well I'm like, supposed to hate that. Sort of."

I want some smack. The words echo throughout my head.

I look around me, fidget in my chair, try to keep my hands from shaking. Everyone in the oval – Ino, who desperately wants to be a Hollywood slave, and Naruto, who is maybe only 18, and Clips, who probably has a family too – they're all here because of – because they have to be. They never had a choice.

My thoughts disapate when Kakashi nods and says, "Pretty good. Next. Ah. OK, let's go with Sakura. Haruno. Do you want to . . . ?"

Me, he's talking to me, my brain screams and I feel my hands begin to get light again, and even with the pills for the sick minds, sometimes they can't stop shaking.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. I'm . . . I'm "Smothered."Where did I find this word?

Like Tuesday, Kakashi writes nothing. The flickering bulb casts shadows on the floor.

I suddenly find my voice, and realize that I can't be so scared. I just can't be. I can't be a sick mind – not here.

"I think I'm like . . . restrained. Because one pill makes - made everything go away. For me."The room is silent; no one laughs, and I feel heat flood to my face. Instantly I reach down for my blue cup and take a long drink. My mouth is like a desert, and I can barely breathe.

Someone speaks.

"You're right. She is right, isn't she?" it's _Clips_, giving me a raised eyebrow and turning to Kakashi, then stealing a lipstick tube out of Ino's bag and putting on nightshade black.

The silence drawls until Naruto says, "Yeah. You're pretty smart . . . Blue Cup Girl."His eyes trace over the cup, then to my face. I try not to flush. I try to smile.

Noticing possible group discussion, Kakashi says, "OK, well, let's elaborate on that." And so we do. And so we sit, in a circle, and talk about making our pain go away, pick apart the stupid words we choose, say 'fuck' and laugh.

It's not an oval now, where we are all just people, the Substance Abusers with gothic clothes, too much cleavage, dyed hair and ink on our arms. We are all speaking of dreams, of going to Disneyland, of finding the first syringe, of wanting to go back, to take it all away.

* * *

Saturday passes. Then Sunday. I write in my journal, an Italian leather bound book with a Sophomore's dreams. My father doesn't come to visit.

Then the week is starting again, and the sacred 'Schedule' begins.

They gave me a choice – a choice for what I wanted to do here. I chose art, because I have never been great at art. It confuses me. I like words, enjoy writing things down.

My art teacher is strange, but I like describing this man's face; his wrinkles and crows feet, tough, coarse hands, tall, broad shoulders, scars on his arms; I make a background for him, tell myself that he was a carpenter, a welder, made beautiful stained glass -

- "Hey. Haruno. What are you doing using a pen and paper in this classroom?" The teacher doesn't approve.

But when I show him what I wrote, he smiles and shakes his head, stares at me, and gives me another piece of paper to start (to attempt) drawing our still life again.

Like the ova – like the Circle, I want things to get better, to be less painful. But still, I have to visit my therapist besides the days I am in group therapy, Dr. Yuhi, who always has beautiful hair and red lipstick on. So far, all we have talked about is her makeup inspiration and what shoes I like.

"We're still making progress, Sakura. You're opening up to me. That's a good thing, right?" Dr. Yuhi smiles hopefully. And I know I am expected to smile back, so I have to.

* * *

The days I am not in Art class, and not in group therapy, I am outside. Konoha Rehab Center's courtyards are always buzzing with activity. But sometimes, it is not good. It scares me.

When I first meet Gaara, he seems not that crazy.

It is Thursday, and I'm outside from lunch until three in the afternoon, where someone is expecting me to be playing tennis on the tennis court. But like school, I skip this instead and go to the courtyard, where people are eating under the watch of the nurses.

He sits alone, with red hair and an insomniac's eyes. I sit next across from him, because there is no other spot left.

His blood-shot stare is unnerving. I say, "Hi. I'm Sakura. Can I sit here?

In response, he turns slightly away from me. "I don't feel like talking. I have a headache.

The cafeteria is serving jell-o, because there is an untouched greep cup near his tray. My stomach rumbles. Now that the . . . _medication_ the doctor has been giving me has been helping more than the last times, the blue cup is not always my fashionable accessory. Instead I am hungry now, which is a rare and precious thing; so far I have lost seven pounds since coming here.

"So, what's your name? Are you going to eat that . . . ." I trail off, and find him glowering at me, then clenching his hair. My heart jumps before I know why it should. "Hey, what's wrong with - "

"I said. I didn't. Want. To talk." He is gritting his teeth.

Instantly I babble, "Look, I'm really really sorry, I'm sorry-"

"GET AWAY! Everyone just GET AWAY FROM ME!" the man sobs and throws his tray off the table with a violent hand. The fork flies and slaps me across the chest.

A nurse runs over, and my hands feel light again, and soon I am shaking, watching him scream and being pulled away by three, four, five nurses, out of the sun and into the cool shade, into a door. _Slam_. It is over.

Silence rings throughout the lunch area. A few people whisper to themselves, people who are still sane, who just have the need. Someone examines their spaghetti dangling off their fork.

"Sakura? Blue Cup? Yeah, it's you, isn't it." A kind voice, gravelly, rough. Kakashi? No.

I turn around slowly, trying not to cry, from anger, from shock, from confusion.

"I saw what happened."It's Naruto, in a red-orange tanktop and ruddy black sweatpants. I notice he wears the same kinds of outfits to The Circle.

My head nods, and I can barely feel myself doing it. I shove my shaking hands into my skirt pockets. "Y-yeah, that was, uh. Weird. Yeah, that was pretty weird." Nervously I laugh, trying to avoid his gaze.

Naruto looks into the windows, sees the man being led off. "That's Gaara. Somebody told me that he did some bad crack or something and right now, they say he's totally lost his mind. . . ."

Great. That makes me feel even better. But it's not his fault, I think as I shake off the agitation, the upset thelingers.

"Oh. I guess that's why he like, threw a fork at me. A nice friendly gesture,"I say, and see his blue eyes gleam with amusement at my sarcastic comment.

We are both silent for a moment, as Naruto kicks at the dirt and I look into the main building, where they took Gaara Subconsciously I wonder if he is ever going to be OK, and where his mind went off to. I wonder how anyone can so easily let their minds slip from their grasp. Will that ever happen to me, from being here? From anything? A strange chill crawls up my neck, despite the warmth of Spring.

He is always the one to break the silence first. "So, I was thinkin' – you wanna like, go somewhere?"

Smile. Make eye contact. Nod. "Sure. I mean, yeah. Let's go."

So I followed him.


	3. Room 107

**Knife Party**

a NaruSaku fanfiction by Rot-chan.

_---_

_"They call it a chipie, a small habit. It feels so good, you start doing it on Tuesdays . ._

_. . then Thursdays . . . Then it's got you. _

_Every wise ass punk on the block says it won't happen to them, but it does."_

_-Jim from "The Basketball Diaries"_

* * *

With Naruto, time is meaningless, and pointless.

We walk quickly through the halls, almost like we're the protagonists of an espionage film; I feel more than slightly ridiculous.

We stop at a corner. I look up; The ceiling shows my reflection. "Act natural," Naruto slouches slightly as he whispers in my ear; I feel his cool breath against my neck, on my cheek.

"I'm assuming you do this kind of thing, a lot." It's not a question, but a statement. I'm confident I'm right. When Naruto pauses and grins a slow smile, close enough for me to see his slightly chapped lips, I'm sure of it.

When I hesitate, because I am sure that I heard the slightly squelch and following tapping sound of the nurses clean white Keds hitting the tiled floors, Naruto takes my hand. In this moment, I am positive a current of electricity sparks from his finger tips, through my palm, and settles in my bones. My ears turn pink.

We walk towards a set of stairs. They are wide, and we walk side by side, quickly and quietly. Neither of us talk. I am sure it is because he doesn't want me to make any noise.

I have been in the center for only a few weeks now, but I recognize the white words written on the black slots in metal holders nailed to the wall; PATIENTS WING speaks clearly as we approach the third floor. Naruto softly turns the metal handle and holds the door open for me. I give him a weak smile and walk through.

Naruto's room. We're going to Naruto's room. I realize that we couldn't have stayed outside any longer without one of the workers, nurses or other staff asking us where we were supposed to be, or without someone taking me (or him) to the Keeper.

The Keeper, named Tsunade, is someone you never want to meet besides at your check-in and your check-out. She is stern, and strict, and other 's' words that sound rather intimidating (think serious, stringent). She is someone who has no problem giving you more monitored hours during the few you have to yourself on weekends and between activities.

She has been said to have sentenced a few "unruly" and rebellious patients to the Maximum Security room once in the past ten years. Some claim they never returned. (When I ask Naruto about the story later, he scoffs and says they were kicked out, and sent to somewhere worse than here.)

This is his plan, I'm certain. I remember once, for some reason, with a tingle of nostalgia, about a girl I used to know, who my mother would have called a 'baby prostitue in the making'.

Ino Yamanaka, who had no problems drinking beer with the boys or putting on mascara in Biology, truly was my only "real friend". She giggled to me one afternoon on the gym field where we were playing field hockey, that Shikamaru Nara had sneaked her to his room when she visited him at his boarding school. I didn't want to ask what happened.

Now, everything is happening too quickly at once.

Naruto starts jogging and I have to jog to catch up; I'm trying to formulate a plan to give to the nurses, to the tennis instructor who will undoubtedly tell Kakashi and maybe the Keeper, about why I never showed up.

I feel the walls slowly beginning to close in, and the same horrible need crawling up my spine, along with the distant memory of the medicine cabinet back home that could take away any problem big or small.

The halls of the rehab center hold too many memories. I can feel them radiating from the floors, where people have scratched at their own skin and bled, and in the air, where patients have been carried away, screaming mindless things about needing a hit and being let go.

My paranoia overcomes my will to breathe; I feel their breath, all around, crawling into my throat and up my nose and forever lightly scarring my lungs with tiny imprints of their initials. I can only picture A.H., K.L, D.E. branding my insides, without pain.

I feel the same feeling you get when submerged in water; the same feeling I have been getting ever since I awoke after a friendly introduction to a stomach pump: the feeling of desperately needing the surface, of missing the Earth. Water has a way of sucking you in, not only in body but in mind as well; it takes you places, and makes drowning painless. So does drugs.

Suddenly I have to breathe, because my lungs are screaming, not from the branding but from the lack of air.

I gulp in large breaths, and almost have stop running. I feel my knees buckle under my weight, and I stumble, but keep going. We have been lucky so far, because at this time of day most nurses gather in the cafeteria, outside on the grounds for activities, privately with patients or smoke in the staff rooms.

"You all right, Sakura?" Oh. It's Naruto's voice. I turn to stare at him. Weakly, I nod. I again notice as he stares at me his strange blue eyes, and I feel an overwhelming and childish desire to touch them.

A moment later, Naruto approaches room 107.

He quietly opens the door and my heart pounds; Ino, twirling her hair and biting her lip, a faint flush on her cheeks, is clear in my memory, making my head and my heart pound in unison -

"L-look, if you brought me here for sex, then . . ."

Naruto gives me the strangest, funniest look I have ever seen; it is so humorous because it is confused, blank, and says, 'what the hell do you mean by that?' all at once.

Then, he shuts the door, softly, and laughs.

When I hear his laugh, I instantly love it; it's rich and subtle, yet coarse from the slightly gravelly quality to his voice.

"Ah . . . sorry Sakura, but no, I didn't – (snicker) – bring you here – (chuckle) – for . . . s-sex . . ." (another fit of laughter).

Like a girl with her brother – though this situation is starting to shift, and feel different – I frown and lightly punch his arm, shoving my sharp knuckles into the soft skin of his bicep.

"Ow! Ow! Ok, ok, I'm sorry, I'll stop laughing. Geez."

Naruto walks over to his bed and sits down. He has a roommate because there is another bed beside his. I'm intrigued. I wonder about the person Naruto is forced to board with; if they're totally weird or just a little bit crazy from the need. My father hasn't visited yet, but he agrees to pay for a single room. In a way, I think, it's meant to justify his absence.

I look at a bulletin board nailed between the beds. The half on Naruto's side – the halves are clearly divided with a long strip of red tape – there is a few notes, but I don't feel I should read them.

There's an old card ragged around the edges that's orange and blue, 'I can hardly believe/ you, my son, are eighteen/ years of memories, watching you grow/ time passing, teaching lessons, learning some/ is long past'. The message is Hallmark-like. I don't want to read the inside.

"Who gave you the card?" I ask.

Naruto stares at the card and replies, "Oh, that. My mom did. It looks like a mom-card, doesn't it?" There is his smile again, and it's beginning to grow on me, like the laugh. "She doesn't live around here, but she sends cards a lot if she can't travel and all."

Oh. He has lost a parent. In a different way than I have, because his mother is alive, breathing and whole – but somehow the same.

Instead of asking questions, I sit beside him on the mattress, listening as it groans under our weight. I become acutely aware of my senses. We're closer than before. I can smell a light, musky, fresh scent on the pillows, like cold air and leaves in the forest, where the trees feel a thousand feet tall.

The sound of Naruto rooting in his drawer stirs me out of my thoughts. There is nothing between us. I am not Ino Yamanaka. I don't drink beer, and I only wear lip balm and powder on my face.

He smiles at me again, but it's softer, and almost given to make the mood lighter. I smile back, drum my fingers across my thigh. Outside, I can hear distant voices on the field where patients play tough mud-and-dirt sports like rugby and football.

"So - rummy or black jack?"

For a long time, the two of us play. We talk about mostly normal things, like school – he hates school too, was glad to "get out of that hellhole with a 2.5 GPA"- and birthdays – I talk about my 18th coming up soon, and he smiles and asks me if I want a huge party and all that, but I grin sheepishly and nod no.

There's only one question that seems to bother us both. I hate myself for asking it, but I want to finally say the words in my head aloud.

We're playing another round of blackjack – the tennis activity I was supposed to be doing will end in about twenty minutes, and afterwards I am expected to meet with Miss Yuhi – when Naruto says "Hit me", and I give him another card. He gets 23, and scowls playfully.

"You're unbeatable at this game Sakura. I'll have to teach you poker or somethin', and then we can get this whole game going with my roommate – his name's Kiba by the way, and maybe a few other guys too."

I giggle at the idea of me playing poker with a bunch of boys. In a way it seems like it can never happen, even though I'd have the perfect poker face; I wouldn't know what to say to the others.

I sigh and collect all the cards. Naruto lets me.

"Naruto . . . the thing is, I've been meaning to ask – let me start over."

For a moment I shift on the bed, then sit criss-crossed and try not to be distracted by Naruto's eyes. In the daylight, a ray of sun splashing across his face, they gleam.

"Don't be upset." This is the first thing I say. I mean it. I don't want him to be. Everything around us – the other bed, all sloppy and unmade, the old sheets, the dumb card and sticky notes . . . I can't explain it, but it makes me depressed the same way seeing my own room stabs at my heart. All your things, splayed out for the world to see. Your own sad corner of the universe, ragged and worn out.

"I won't be," Naruto says, suddenly serious. Why does this scare me?

I clear my throat. I am surprised at how much I sound like an adult when I say these words. How much I sound like my mother.

"Why . . . did you really do drugs?"

A low silence hangs between us. Naruto's gaze darkens a little, and he bites the nail on his thumb, but doesn't chew; rather, it's like an anchor that keeps him from speaking.

Before I can say his name, he talks.

"I don't really know . . . how it happened. Well, I mean, I _do_ know. I was there for all of it. And got pretty mixed-up in it too - that whole heroin business. Just for a little while though."

_That whole heroin business_. It pulls at my heart.

"I dunno, really. I mean, we all have "the story", right?" When Naruto says this, he makes weak parenthesis with his hand, and doesn't look at me again.

"Mine is pretty pathetic. I hated school. Didn't have any friends. My other friend moved away. My mom moved away. My dad died. Nothin' else left. But I guess . . . I wanted to have something else. Sort of." His voice sounds strained.

"Who was your friend?" I ask, trying not to let my voice catch in my throat. His father was dead. Hearing it made memories flash through my mind – my mother, going out to visit my aunt Aoi, during winter . . . she was going to have a baby, she was her sister, how could she _not_ go? It was snowy out, the cop said, burly with broad shoulders and a gun on his belt. Snowy, dark . . . these kind of things happen. My eyes feel hot.

Naruto smiles weakly. "Sasuke. His name's Sasuke. He went away with his brother. His brother skipped town and all, 'cuz he's a real big hot shot in his twenties and trying to write short stories and everything."

"Huh," I say quietly, trying to envision these people in my head; the image of Naruto, with his parents, with his friend. It's difficult to imagine.

After a long moment I say, "I'm sorry I asked. I'm sorry . . . sorry. Really." My voice is more sure than I really am. Naruto nods. But there is no rift between us. Instead, there's a sad, open space, of truth, and knowledge, and the pain of loss.

* * *

**Important AN: **This chapter was supposed to leave off where 2 ended. I know I've been delaying these fics, but I've had the death in the family ordeal going on, and school, and everything else, so I promise I'll work on some other stories along with this fiction gradually. Thanks to all readers, and reviewers - Goonielove, Vanderbilt, hatakevan, and oitotheworld. You're all great. I appreciate your support of KP.

_- Shelby _


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